


Refactor

by PunkHazard



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scientists always operate under the assumption that a Pons interface is only possible with two pilots; the Weis seem to have already decided that three is totally feasible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refactor

The baseline of education for any Jaeger Academy graduate involves a year-long stint at Kodiak, several hours logged in the hangar, LOCCENT and K-Sci each, and a massive load of technical jargon and mechanical specs so every single student leaves with at least a rudimentary knowledge of how a Shatterdome runs. 

Ranger candidates specialize in physical training, techies on Jaeger function, repair, construction-- and scientists on kaiju morphology, bonus points for a degree in herpetology. Hermann falls into the second category, with a smaller focus in the latter.

He arrives to the first _Mechanics of Jaegers_ lecture with a voice recorder, a pen and a black-and-white marble notebook. Physical note-taking is almost unheard of in this day and age, but Hermann has a program to digitize it all later and he'd read the studies-- writing by hand forces a student to parse the material, condense it, to record the salient points at a speed that results in something legible. At his age, he'll need all the help he can get, if he's to go back to school.

The students fall predictably along the categories they'd been pre-sorted into (Hermann would be amused by it if he didn't find himself in the front row with all the other programmers), the scientists collected in the middle of the seating arrangement and the Rangers-in-training lounging in the back of the room. 

He first speaks to the Weis when one of them nearly tumbles to his death tripping over the cane Hermann had propped up in the aisle next to his seat. He doesn't, mostly because one brother had the presence of mind to grab him by the arm, tugging him upright, and the other snatches Hermann's cane up before it can be trampled under the river of students leaving the lecture hall or snapped under the first triplet's body weight.

"Sorry!" says one, quickly inspecting Hermann's cane before handing it back, setting it carefully on the desk, out of the way. He and both brothers squish into the row in front of Hermann's, waiting for the other students to leave before they crowd back into the aisle. 

It's mildly disconcerting, having his exit blocked by three people with heights and physiques not unlike the ones of boys who'd made his life a living hell when he was younger, but they look worried more than threatening, and Hermann is an _adult_ , though he doesn't always feel like one. "I'm glad you're not hurt," he says first, packing his notebook away and pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Are you?"

"Ah, no--" one brother, presumably the one who'd tripped, ducks his head in a quick, informal bow, "Dr. Gottlieb, sorry again."

Hermann blinks.

"Hu wasn't watching where he was going," one of the others says affectionately, bumping Hu's shoulder with his own. "I'm Jin, this is Cheung. We read your dissertation on the logistics of cleaning up kaiju blue fallout, doctor, and Hu was too starstruck to pay attention to where he puts his big, clumsy feet."

Hu says something in Cantonese, looking mortified, but sighs when Cheung wraps an arm over his shoulders and drags him back. "And the article on potentially increasing the capacity of the Pons interface," Cheung adds, looking pointedly at his brothers, "that one means a lot to us as well."

"Those aren't easy papers to read," Hermann responds, looking like he'd been smacked across the face with a sladgehammer. "That's very impressive."

Starstruck? Over his theses? Important work, to be sure (and his article on the Pons system is still only conjecture, at best), but hardly something he expected Ranger candidates to be reading, much less enjoying. They can't be more than sixteen, and given their lean faces, the way their clothes sit just a bit too loose on their frames, Hermann doesn't even think to assume that they've got a high school diploma between them. 

"We used a lot of Google Translate," Cheung demurs, voice dry, before changing the subject. "Do you have another class?"

"Kaiju Behavior, on the second floor."

"That's next to the gym," Hu says cheerfully, "we'll walk with you if you don't mind."

Hermann doesn't mind and tells them so. They spend the entire journey bombarding him with questions, some of them only tangentially related to his work and several badly phrased (' _So how do you make more hypowhatevers interface if they can only handle two brain bits each_ ,' being one of the more memorable), but challenging in different ways from the academics in Hermann's life. Scientists always operate under the assumption that a Pons interface is only possible with two pilots; the Weis seem to have already decided that three is totally feasible.

They leave Hermann with a cheerful farewell, the walk having seemed far too short and wholly unsatisfying, for all the questions he still has.

* * *

"Triplets," Hermann comments the next time they meet, ten minutes before class is due to begin, "remarkable. Actually, you three are quite well-known among the faculty. I didn't make the connection until after classes ended yesterday."

"You hang around faculty?" Cheung asks, sounding wary. He exchanges a look with Jin, the two of them only distinct from each other by the bruise patterns still mottling their faces. Hu has a small cut across the bridge of his nose, but Hermann knows he won't be able to rely on those to tell them apart for long.

"I'm familiar with several of the instructors," he answers, "and I teach the course on Drift Compatibility Programming."

That gets three looks, dark eyes shining with some predatory glimmer, but Hu's the one who asks, "Is there any way we could take that class?"

"It was only open to techs," Cheung clarifies, "and we're in the Ranger program."

"But we're not really sure if we'll get to pilot--" Jin cuts Hu off with an elbow to the ribs, but the youngest powers through anyway. "It's all three of us, or none of us. It might end up being none of us, if no one figures out how to increase the pilots in a Pons system."

Hermann doesn't miss the look Cheung and Jin exchange, like they don't want anyone knowing why they might want to be in Hermann's class, that that kind of information is Private, as if they've shown a vulnerability they'd prefer to keep hidden. He doesn't want them to regret it; every instructor he's spoken to has their eye on the Weis, three of them standouts even in a class of talented athletes.

Still.

"The class is full," Hermann tells them, idly considering the amount of space left in the classroom he's been allotted, "but one of you is welcome to sit in, and if you do the assignments and take the exams, I will grade them. If that works for you, I expect to see you in class Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 1 o'clock in the afternoon."

"That's our lunch period," Cheung observes, eyes flickering to Hu, "we'll save your share, if you still want this."

"Then I'm in. Thanks, Dr. Gottlieb."

In class, they sit close to him, ignoring the calls from a few of their Ranger program contemporaries. The Weis look uncomfortable so close to the front of the room, Cheung especially (too many people at their backs, out of their line of sight), but pass notes to Hermann with questions about the material Hu's expected to know before he starts in class, along with increasingly absurd hypothetical situations that a Jaeger pilot might encounter that they may need to program their way out of.

(Hermann spends the full hour and a half trying to decide between anticipation for the potential the Weis bring to the table, and exasperation at their lack of ability to take any of it seriously.)

* * *

Vanessa surprises him with a visit his third week in Kodiak, bringing with her a set of books he'd left in London with a reminder that digital editions are just a click away. He has the ebooks, but sentimentality gets the better of him sometimes, and the backlit tablet screen hurts his eyes after a long day so she doesn't press him about it. 

At lunch, one Tuesday, the two of them run into the Weis in the canteen, three of them surrounding a hulking giant Hermann recognizes from his _Basics of Drift Compatibility_ class. It's not a course he really needs to take, but Marshal Pentecost had asked him to audit and provide feedback anyway. Aleksis Kaidanovsky looks relieved to see Hermann as he approaches, five cards in his hand dwarfed by his palm and a few bills disappearing from the table when Hu sweeps his hand across its surface.

"Hey Dr. Gottlieb," Jin says, expression innocent, before he flashes a sly grin at Vanessa, "and someone I would definitely remember if you were a student here?"

"Vanessa," Vanessa says, laughing. "And you're..."

"Cheung," Jin says. "And my brothers, Jin and Hu."

"I've heard a lot about you three," answers Vanessa, shaking his hand when he extends it, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jin."

Aleksis laughs, a tectonic rumble from deep within his chest as he stands, casually dropping his cards to the table to shake her hand, taking his turn before Cheung and Hu. "Aleksis," he says. "Is nice to meet you, Vanessa. Your timing is good."

"We were about to clean him out," Hu explains, swiping up the cards on the table and stacking them to shuffle, "but we can deal both of you in, if you'd like?"

"Actually, I've promised Vanessa a tour--"

Vanessa doesn't move when Hermann puts his hand on her elbow and tries to guide her away, her eyes wide, glossed lips pulled into a delicate, sharp smile. " _Deal me in_."

Hermann sighs.

Aleksis turns a curious look on Hermann. "You as well, doctor?"

"What's the game?"

"We were playing Big 2," Cheung volunteers, "but let's do Blackjack."

"You might as well."

The didn't, perhaps, consider the ramifications of asking a mathematician to bet on a game based on the ability to memorize sequences of numbers. Vanessa never does get her tour before she's off to a photoshoot in Seattle, and he doesn't take their money (the Weis and Aleksis treat him and Vanessa to coffee instead to pay off ther debt), but they start hounding him to teach them how to count cards, a skill about as useless to Hermann as his ability to recite pi to the Nth digit. Impressive, but ultimately impractical and meaningless.

Vanessa had asked for the same, early on in their friendship. She's rarely had a chance to put it to use, but Hermann learns belatedly that growing up desperately poor (according to their file, anyway), the Weis have learned to utilize their skills in whatever ways possible, scruples optional. He'd find it admirable if it didn't involve students arriving to afternoon classes sans shirts and sometimes shoes.

* * *

Hermann rarely finds himself in the Kwoon, though he passes it often. For the time being, there's no need for him to watch Ranger candidates take awkward swings at each other's faces, and very few students are guaranteed a spot in the program just yet. It's not his scene; the hum of machinery and powertools is preferable to any kind of display of physical prowess.

That's what he tells himself, but curiosity gets the better of him the day he sees students crowded at the doors to the Kwoon, so many of them already packed inside the space that everyone else has been squeezed out. They make way for him, the combination of being an instructor and using a cane making his passage through the crush of bodies very easy.

He's not even remotely surprised to see a familiar face in the ring, Hu stripped down to a pair of gym shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, (figuratively) leading another Ranger candidate around the ring by his nose. Hermann sees a flash of green out of the corner of his eye, Jin and Cheung apparently taking bets on who'd win: the scrawny youngest triplet or the tall, blond and blue-eyed strapping young man who's been outperforming most of his peers in the physical evaluations.

(Jin conveniently doesn't mention that the brothers-- including Hu-- have been shattering records since they'd arrived, though rarely where the other students can see.)

Hermann doesn't consider himself an expert when it comes to fight science, but it's plain as day which of the two opponents is accustomed to conserving his energy, movements spare and efficient. Hu shows every sign of having grown up scrapping in the streets, unable to use some of the dirtier tricks he knows but reflexes and coordination refined over several years, his bearing and expression screaming complete confidence in his own skill.

Hermann clears his throat. Loudly.

Several heads whip around, three of them in particular giving off a threatening (and threatened) sort of aura before the triplets pull themselves back, exchange looks with each other. "Hi doctor," Hu says first, having disengaged completely from his fight. "Having a good day?"

"I heard a commotion," answers Hermann, expression amused but voice stern. "Do the instructors know what you're doing here? The Marshal?"

Cheung winces. "We were just... having some fun."

"Instructors don't come here this period," adds Jin, "we made sure."

When Hermann looks over his shoulder, most of the crowd has dispersed and the rest are slinking away, leaving the Weis standing alone in the Kwoon to face his presumed wrath. (He's always managed to look strict in the classroom.)

"Why now?" Hermann probes, "What's the point of all this?"

"Trying to stay sharp," Jin responds, "and maybe earn some cash in our spare time. Hu needs a new laptop, the computer labs close too early."

Hu needs a new laptop _for your class_ , he'd taken great care not to say or even imply, but Hermann's familiar enough with all the courses in the Ranger program to make the leap himself. He refuses to feel guilty for it. "You should have come to me," he says, leaning heavily on his cane, "I would have gladly given you my old one. It's perfectly functional, equipped to handle a much bigger load than systems available to most students."

"You don't need it?"

"We're not asking for that--"

"We can do this on our own--"

"I bought a new one last week," Hermann interrupts. "More portable, as well as more powerful." He sighs at the triplets' hesitation, three of them looking a little offended he'd offer, but very tempted to take him up on it. "Please," Hermann says, "I insist. Hu has shown plenty of potential in the last few weeks, it would benefit me greatly as well for you to have full access."

* * *

Hermann wipes most of his drive-- any personal information, saved passwords and e-mails, miscellaneous files, empties his pictures folder (it's all been backed up to his new system already). He deliberately leaves the OS manuals he'd downloaded some years ago, Jaeger blueprints, half-finished code, the papers he's written and had published, the pages upon pages of rambling stream-of-consciousness hypotheses and ideas he'd always planned to go back to.

He tells them as much-- that Hu will have full access to the files for as long as he wants them. Hermann knows teenagers (he was one himself, albeit an unconventional one) and expects that Hu won't be doing anything with all the material, if he doesn't delete it all to make room for games first.

He doesn't expect an e-mail six days later with a chunk of code some four thousand lines into the first iteration of Caitlin Lightcap's Pons Interface. Hermann remembers clearly how much trouble that section had given them; there's an equation for harmonic resonance in there that Hermann isn't sure is even functional in the software but breaks everything when removed, and he regards the confused subject line, almost laughing at its similarity to some of Newton's more 3 am missives, though the message itself is brief and to the point.

* * *

|| _i don't understand this part, it's not referenced anywhere else in this project_

Hermann has a long reply typed up, explaining what they had tried to do and what functions they'd used to achieve it, but he quickly realizes that he and Dr. Lightcap had somewhat fudged their way through that section anyway, trying many different things until something had stuck and consistently returned accurate compatibility ratings. Besides, he's a teacher now.

|| _Have you tried removing it or changing it?_

Hours later, sometime in the middle of the night when Hermann's already in bed in the middle of a quick game of 2048:

|| _it broke everything. my brothers tried to help but they made it worse_

Trying to imagine the three brothers crowded in front of his old laptop trying to puzzle through the code, Hermann fights back a chuckle and leaves that message for the morning. Before his first class, he heads off his explanation with

|| _First rule of coding: as long as it works, you don't always have to know why._

* * *

It'll be two years after their graduation from Jaeger Academy before Hermann finds himself in a position to change the course of history again. He keeps in sporadic contact with them, the messages Hu sends usually consist of several hundred lines of code; always obviously accumulated over several weeks of tinkering. The sections he asks Hermann to check or suggest tweaks to become steadily more refined as their acquaintance wears on, until Hermann's pretty sure that the youngest triplet is simply keeping him updated with only a courtesy request for feedback.

He's glaringly obvious in the kind of build he's working toward-- a three-pilot Pons interface-- and for about eleven months, Hu's only building the framework around it, working off hypothetical values that would presumably be returned once someone actually figures out how to synchronize three cerebral cortices. 

Hermann can't say he's never seen that technique before, though he can't speak for its effectiveness. When Hu goes silent for about six months, the last thing Hermann expects is an e-mail from Stacker Pentecost requesting that he look over a certain project. 

It's still rough, style and formatting often hopping between his own even-handed work to Hu's brisk, non-linear declarations that he seems to insert whenever he thinks to include something he'd missed earlier. It's a bit like time travel; Hermann also comes across dense chunks of code brute-forcing their way through problems in ways that he would almost definitely have docked points from his students for (usually followed by // _cheung took over here, the recursive loop breaks it but this always works and we can't figure out why_ or // _jin spilled coffee over my keyboard and did this to make up for it_ ).

When he finally comes onto an entirely unfamiliar section, Hermann pushes his glasses up his nose and leans forward, scanning the lines while he feels his pulse steadily begin to rise. 

The Weis had decided to take an entirely different tack from the normal Drift Sequence, which establishes a connection before allowing the drift to organically take over and synchronize two pilots' minds. His code first establishes a network, dozens of points of reference between three brains, before flooding the synapses with a charge. The connection comes last, linking up this trio and pulling them in all at once, in ways that would almost definitely leave all but the most drift-compatible pilots with brain damage.

That's what he's trying to do, anyway, with the limited language available. The supreme amount of confidence in their bond is only overshadowed by how simple and elegant a conclusion the triplets had arrived at.

Regardless, Hermann's mind is ablaze, as if some linchpin has been pulled out of every foundation of J-Tech-- two words repeating itself over and over while he starts a reply to the Marshal.

_It's possible._

|| _You will want to send this to Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, Marshal._

* * *

He's there for their first Drift a year later, in spirit if not in person. Dr. Lightcap patches him into the security feed and simulator cams while they tinker with the headsets, three of them moving as nervously as Hermann has ever seen the Weis. He notes that they've gotten taller since he'd last seen them, filled out and put on pounds of muscle, though they still look thin next to the other Rangers present.

It looks like an entirely unremarkable Drift; the Weis say nothing and don't even move an inch from their seats when Lightcap flips the switch, After a few moments of silence, they look at each other. "We," Cheung says, his voice rough and staticky through the intercom, "should probably have tested what a regular Handshake feels like before doing this."

"What's the feed say?" asks Jin.

Stacker announces, "Drift successful."

"You think we're really drifting?"

"I don't know, but I'm a bit emotional."

"Let's test it," Lightcap says, swiping up a stack of flashcards and pushing pens and notepads into Cheung and Hu's hands. "I'll show Jin here a pattern, and you two write it down. It won't be easy, so get ready and don't peek."

When she holds up six ripped-out sheets of notebook paper to the camera, each set of two with an identical series of shapes and numbers scrawled lengthwise down the center of the page, Hermann's smiling so hard he's happy no one can see him on the other end. "Congratulations," he says, and feels a bit sheepish when the Weis jump, turning to the camera and sticking their faces ecstatically into it.

"Hey doc!" Hu crows as Dr. Lightcap ends their Handshake, three of them tearing off their headsets and setting them down in eerie unison, "we did it!"

He starts jumping up and down, looking every one of his nineteen years while his brothers join him, the three of them throwing their arms around each other in a brief celebration before turning away from the camera and accepting handshakes (physical ones) and backpats from the rest of the techs. Stacker gives them a firm, 'Well done,' and quickly takes his leave, whipping out his phone. 

Mako elbows through the crowd and pauses for all of two seconds before the Weis start jumping again, sweeping her into the excitement and leading a whole congregation of techs and LOCCENT officers and mechanics out of the simulation room.

Hermann leans away from his screen for the first time in nearly half an hour, feeling the vertebrae in his spine creak as he stretches. The Weis will be too caught up in Ranger training to keep tweaking their code, or to learn an entire software from scratch to refuctor it for three pilots, much less customize it for a mech, so Hermann drags up the most recent OS in the PPDC database and pauses at the title screen. 

It's one PM in Hong Kong but sunrise in London.

**> Project Name: Tri-Sun Horizon.**


End file.
